


"You liked it, didn't you?"

by CowsGoMoo2323



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur's in denial, First Kiss, Fluffy?, Flustered France, M/M, we need more flustered France in our lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowsGoMoo2323/pseuds/CowsGoMoo2323
Summary: Arthur gets caught up in the moment and kisses Francis. Once he realized what he's done, he runs away, and Francis chases after him. So basically; Arthur and Francis have their first kiss together.
Relationships: England & his brothers, England/France (Hetalia), France/England
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	"You liked it, didn't you?"

**Author's Note:**

> Are people even still into hetalia?  
> Constructive criticism would be really appreciated! This is my first ever fanfic :)

_1300’s_

It started a nice sunny day. Nice enough for two young boys, being about the age of fifteen, to strip down to only their pants and splash in the cold running river. 

The young personification of France, Francis, grabbed his shirt from off of the ground and dunked it fully into the ice cold water. He wringed out all of the extra water and twirled up the shirt, sneaking up behind Arthur, also known as England, who was innocently skipping rocks. Francis got into position.

A loud _CRACK!_ echoed out, followed by a pain filled shriek and cackles.

France didn’t actually think of the following consequences of giving England a rat tail. Next thing he knew was him laughing his arse off, being as smug as ever, and then feeling the blast of coldness all around his face. He very quickly realized that England retaliated, and was shoving his face in the very ice cold river. Francis couldn’t breathe and when he attempted to; water ended up in his mouth. He tried his best to speak properly, 

“O..ok! I-!” He choked, “I’m sorry-y! I won’t do it again!”

“S'il te plaît, arrête! _(Please stop!)_ ” France pleaded in his language, he needed to breathe. 

Everything was getting fuzzy and his brain was pounding inside his skull.

After a few more dunks, Arthur huffed and finally let go and walked back to reclaim his things to leave. When he had his back facing him, Francis saw the lower part of Arthur’s back, almost near his butt, burning red. 

Francis hacked and coughed up more water from his lungs.

“If you pull something like that again, I’ll make sure you won’t be breathing.” England threatened, he already gathered his stuff and was about to leave Francis.

“Wait!” Francis coughed, “Wait! Don’t go, I said I was sorry.” He pleaded

As much as he’d hate to admit it, Arthur was a nice company to have. He and Francis were both personifications of nations, their problems were more relatable; they would go to each other and rant about the ideas their kings came up with, or some new juicy gossip going around their kingdoms. It was easier to talk to each other than some human friend who wouldn’t understand. To have those few moments of understanding was nice. Plus, it was amusing for Francis to tease Arthur and see his ~~_cute_~~ face scrunch up in anger, trying to think of a come-back. 

… 

Arthur was obviously pissed off at Francis but he didn’t want to go and deal with everyone back home, his pain-in-the-arse brothers especially ( _*Ahem*_ Scotland). Arthur sighed,

“Fine, idiot. I’ll stay.” Francis seemed to perk up at this, Arthur continued, “One wrong move, and I’m leaving.” He warned.

“Are you not coming back in the water with me?” Francis asked

“No, it’s too cold now. Besides, you got my shirt all wet. Now I have to wait for it to dry.” Arthur glared

Francis stepped out of the river and shivered, Arthur was right; it was getting cold. He as well grabbed his things and suggested that they go back to the hill and just hang out there. England seemed alright with the suggestion and agreed. 

They walked in silence for half of the time, England still seemed a bit mad at France. France found the silence awkward and uncomfortable. An idea popped into his mind,

“Last one to reach the tree is a rotten egg!” He challenged, already ditching his things on the stamped down, grass path and running as fast as he could towards the single tree on top of the single hill in the distance. He didn’t even give Arthur a chance to respond.

Arthur dropped his stuff by Francis’ and started to charge after him. 

“Oi- wait a second!” He huffed, “That’s not fair!”

… 

Francis was so far in the lead, Arthur not too far behind him but it looked like Arthur couldn’t keep up. 

“Looks like you’re going to lose, Angleterre!” Francis teased over his shoulder

“As if!” He retorted 

Arthur picked up his pace.

… 

Francis made it to the start of the hill, still being in the lead just by inches, Arthur close behind.

_I can’t let him win! He’s already egotistic enough.._

France had beaten England in contests before, and every time France would gloat in England’s face, only making England more of a sore loser. It always ends up with England even more angered and punching France in his ~~_perfect_ ~~ face. 

Francis made it to the top of the hill and was just about to touch the trunk of the tree. Arthur _would not_ stand for this, he did the only thing he could think of. Right before Francis’ fingertips could touch the tree, Arthur grabbed Francis’ shoulders and threw him back. 

“ _Que faites-vous?_ (What are you doing)?” Francis yelled, “Whoa!”

And he went tumbling back down the hill. Arthur smirked, 

“Who’s the rotten egg now?”

Reflexes got the best of Francis, wanting to grab onto something to stop his fall; that _something_ was Arthur. Unfortunately, Arthur wasn’t rooted into the ground, and came tumbling down with Francis.

“Hey! Don’t grab onto me, you idiot!”

They rolled down the hill together, a lot of _“Oofs!”_ and _“Ow!”_ coming from the two. But there was also...laughter? France was laughing. And soon, Arthur joined him. The two laughing all the way down the hill and eventually landing with a _thud!_

Arthur sat up from the ground, still laughing, 

“You weren’t supposed to grab onto me, git.”

France looked over to England and grinned, 

“ _You_ weren’t supposed to throw me!” France chuckled, “That’s against the rules!”

“Says you! You got a head start!” England got up, walking over to help France up, “Besides, you didn’t mention any rules!”

Arthur extended out his arm and Francis took it. They stared at each other for a moment until Francis suddenly pounced on Arthur, who gave out a yelp of surprise. Arthur started to struggle against his hold. Parts of skin turning pinkish red from friction burns and the sun.

“I still won!”

“No, you did not!”

The young countries just started to roll on the ground again. The once-long-grass now flattened out, prickling their bare backs. One trying to pin down the other. Wrestling was one of the favorite pastimes the boys liked to do. It was usually a draw in the end, them being too tired to find out who the victor would be, sometimes England would win, other times France would win. But this time, someone _needed_ to win, it would determine who truly won the race.

“I always beat you.” Francis taunted, “Face it, _Angleterre~_ , I’m better than you.” The way Francis nearly _purred_ Arthur’s name left Arthur with a faint blush on his face. 

“Psh, you wish you were better-!”

Just then, Arthur was caught off guard, and Francis pinned him down. Putting Arthur’s hands above his head. Francis lips turned into a devilish smirk and he leaned down,

“You were saying?” 

Francis’ face wasn’t far from Arthur’s. His long, golden hair practically surrounded Arthur’s face, blocking anything out of view but the French boy’s smirking face. ~~_His perfect face_ . ~~

Francis was saying something, but Arthur wasn’t focusing on that. He looked at how the sun hit Francis’ hair, making it seem like it was _glowing_ . How his eyes turned from a vibrant blue, to violet, and back to blue. France was, in _all honesty,_ beautiful. Probably one of the most beautiful beings to walk the Earth. 

France seemed to notice England's quietness and staring. He gave a lopsided smile,

“Um, England? Were you even paying attention?” Francis giggled

He lifted himself more upwards to give him and Arthur more room between themselves. However, Arthur didn’t seem to come out of his daze.

Francis giggled again, 

“Did you hit your head or something?”

 _Oh lord_ . _His smile, his laugh, the giggling. It was like listening to the enchanting songs of a siren._

“Uhh, hellooo? Angleterre? Are you alright?” He took his hand off one of England’s arm’s and waved it above his face.

England didn’t snap, he was too busy admiring. His mind adoring how gorgeous the boy above him was. The English boy’s mind began to wonder. Green eyes trailed down France’s face, studying all his features. His eyes landed on his lips. 

_His lips look soft. And plump. Pink, soft, and plump._

One wonder led to another.

_What would it be like to kiss them? Would it be soft?_

_Has Francis ever kissed another boy before?_

_What would it be like to kiss another boy?_

England figures France probably had kissed a boy or few, maybe almost as much as he’s kissed girls. Francis always told him about the latest cute girls he’s seen. About which one he was able to woo and able to steal a kiss from. One time it was a serving girl, another time it was the Baron’s daughter at an important gathering, or something like that. England didn’t really care enough to listen.

He felt a dark feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Was it jealousy?

… 

Arthur still wasn’t answering. France was growing more concerned. 

“England, I swear, you’re really starting to freak me out.” Francis asked, slightly disturbed, 

“Say _something_ if you’re alright.”

...

The question, _‘what would it be like?’_ , kept on running through Arthur’s mind, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

Francis leaned down closer to examine Arthur’s face. His perfect eyebrows quirked in suspicion.

“If this is a joke- it stopped being funny a while ago, chéri..”

_It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?_

At the final thought, Arthur instinctively lifted up and connected their lips. Francis made a muffled sound of surprise. It was a kiss, just to feel. It was warm, there was maybe even a hint of passion to it.

Francis' lips were even softer than Arthur expected them to be. It wasn’t the best kiss in the whole universe, but it definitely wasn’t the worse. It was a quick kiss, just about lasting 3 seconds before Arthur pulled away, staring right at Francis. 

Francis’ face was full of shock and he was blushing as red as a tomato. No sentences actually came out of his mouth, it was just stammers and sputters.

“Wha-? _You_ , you jus-just..and-and?”

He was at loss for words, Francis never expected Arthur to do something so.. _un-Arthur_ like. _Affection is just a distraction to what’s truly important_ , is what Arthur had once said, so Francis never expected him to be the one to start a kiss. Has he never kissed someone before, or was Francis his first? Francis didn’t know what to say until he just said,

“U-um, Arthur..?”

Using his human given name seemed to break Arthur out of his delusion and oh boy; he looked mortified. Sudden realization of what he did hit him like a brick.

“Arthur. What was that? What was _that_ about?”

Arthur didn’t respond right away. What was he supposed to say during a situation like this? He just embarrassed the _shit_ out of himself in front of Francis, France. His enemy, his rival. He had _kissed_ France. Arthur can’t look at Francis in the eyes anymore, he’s too embarrassed. He’s too afraid to see the emotion in his eyes. It could be anger, rejection, disgust. 

“ARTHUR.” France said in the most stern voice, “ANSWER ME.”

Arthur couldn’t, he couldn’t answer him. He didn’t know how. 

He jerked his hands free from Francis’ grasp and violently shoved Francis off.

“Get off. GET OFF.”

“Oof-!” Francis landed on his butt, “Hey! Where do you think-?!”

Before France could stop England for some answers, he left. England jumped up and ran, leaving a literal dust cloud behind him. Leaving France alone to process what the hell just happened.

… 

England didn’t think he could ever run that fast. It felt like he made it to his stuff in a flash. His shirt was damp and he found out that one of his shoes was missing. _Great_ . Maybe he dropped it somewhere back by the river. England didn’t bother putting on his shirt and his only shoe on. As soon as he found his other shoe, he was out of there. He was going to shut himself off from the world. _Of course he’s being dramatic but he just kissed a dude, which wasn’t really socially acceptable back then, a person could get charged of gross indecency_. 

England set direction towards the river, jogging. He’s too tired to be full-on-sprinting. He didn’t go anywhere near France’s clothing, he just let it be. 

… 

Francis, finally, registered what the heck just happened and is now searching for Arthur. There was nowhere to go, really, it was just acres and acres of grassy plains with a hill and tree. And the river a distance away, bordered by trees. There’s a pond too, it was farther down the river.

_He ran in the direction of the river..maybe he’s there?_

Francis just wanted to talk to Arthur. _Talk_ , not yell or scream, but just to have a calm discussion of what the heck was running through his mind when he did that, and why he was so quiet and just gazing at him with those pretty... _pretty_ forest green eyes.

Francis stopped dead in his tracks.

_Pretty? Wait, did I just think that? Pretty?_

He shook his head and cleared his brain of all his thoughts. He continued his way to find Arthur.

_Whatever, nevermind._

… 

Arthur finally made it to the river, out of breath. He found his shoe by the bank of the river and went to go pick it up.

_Alright. Now it’s time to go._

But something in him stopped him from going. He didn’t want to go home, his jackasses for brothers were there, and a small part of him, probably the part stopping him from leaving, wanted to see France. The part of him wanted to see if France would actually come looking for him, he wanted to know what France thought of the kiss. But England was also too anxious to see France again.

He had no clue of what to do. 

Arthur just stood there for a while. He must’ve looked like an idiot, standing there with no shirt on, no socks or shoes, and just holding a stray shoe. He debated with himself whether to go home or not, Arthur finally decided to just sit by the river, if Francis showed up; then whatever, if Francis didn’t; whatever, Arthur could be alone with his thoughts. His _terrible_ thoughts.

… 

Francis, not long ago, saw that Arthur’s clothes were gone. And was considering if Arthur was still around.

_It would be better to check, just in case._

~*~

There he was. Arthur was there by the river. It looked like he was just staring at his reflection. Francis made his way towards the English boy, being as quiet as he could be. 

… 

Arthur seemed to already notice his presence but didn’t bother to turn around. He only murmured, 

“Why did I do that?” It was more of a question for himself than anything. Francis just plopped down next to him, not really knowing what to say.

Arthur’s face was blank, showing no sign of any emotion. On the inside, Arthur was freaking out; that one part of him that _wanted_ to see Francis, evaporated, and left him with nothing but guilt and anxiety.

“I never knew you felt that way, mon ami.” Francis lightly teased. He had meant for it to lighten up the mood, but it completely backfired and did the complete opposite.

Arthur slumped and just started to cry. The little sobs shaked his body.

“Arthur..”

“Why did I do that?” England repeated, his voice croaked, “Boys shouldn’t be liking boys, boys shouldn’t be _kissing_ other boys. It’s indecent and gross. It’s _wrong_.”

Francis seemed hurt and winced at that. But what stuck to him the most was Arthur saying, _“boys shouldn’t be liking boys.”_ Francis stared, wide-eyed at Arthur, his face grew more red.

“...Did you just...did you just admit that you like me?”

Arthur abruptly stands up, it took Francis by surprise,

“You know what? Just forget that I did or said anything. Just forget it all.”

He was still holding his one shoe.

Before Arthur could take a step, Francis spun around and grabbed onto his hand, not intending to let go. 

“Let go of my hand, you idiot!” Arthur yelled, he tried yanking his hand away but Francis just held on tighter.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” Francis pried in all seriousness, he needed some actual answers.

“W-what?” England stopped his struggles.

“You liked the kiss.”

“What?!” England shouted, “No, of course not!”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re blushing.” Francis pointed, Arthur might’ve been a blushing mess right now, but so was himself.

“That’s because I’m pissed off!” _More like embarrassed_

“England! Angleterre- _Arthur!”_ Francis raised his voice, “Just tell me the truth, please. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be! _Please_ , I want to know.”

Arthur’s face looked miffed, and his eyes looked away from Francis’. It took him some time, and he hesitated a bit, but he nodded his head, sheepishly.

“Why’d you lie?” Francis asked

“Have you not been listening?” Arthur snapped, his eyes snapped back to the French boy. His sheepness turned back to annoyance.

He continued, “Something like this,” He gestured between him and Francis, “Is frowned upon...it’s not normal. What would everyone say?”

Francis softly chuckled, “Angleterre, you worry too much.” He squeezed his hand, “Who says everyone needs to know?”

Arthur just blinks in response.

Francis pulled Arthur back down, and surprisingly, Arthur complied. He sat back down next to Francis and just went back to staring at his reflection.

“So you liked the kiss. And- and I liked the kiss” Francis admitted, clearing his throat, “Do..do you wanna try again?”

His face went to a whole new shade of red, Francis thought it was foolish of how he was getting embarrassed asking for a kiss; he was France for Heaven’s sake! He could make any girl (or boy) swoon by just flashing a dazzling smile. Now _he’s_ the one swooning over England. What happened to Francis? Did Arthur have _that_ much of an effect on him?

Arthur was speechless, he had never seen Francis blush this bad before. England was actually quite flabbergasted that someone like France would get flustered over someone like himself. 

His first instinct was to squawk a harsh “no” but his mind went back to the first kiss, he remembered how the sensation of it felt, how good it was but how quickly it ended. England nodded his head again,

“Yah, I would like to try again.” Francis smiled big.

… 

It was awkward, Francis had to turn his whole being to face his friend. They had to awkwardly lean in closer towards each other. And then their lips met. It was much better than the first, this time it had more meaning to it, the love was easy to decipher. Francis tilted Arthur’s head to deepen the kiss. 

Francis had experience when doing this sort of stuff, Arthur did not, so when Francis ran his tongue along his lips, he pulled back and stared agape at Francis. 

“Erm, Arthur, are you ok?”

“Did you just lick me?” Arthur asked, breathlessly

Francis quickly glanced at Arthur’s glossy lips and then at the ground, cowardly, “Um, yah? If you didn’t like it, we can stop.”

“Oh, no!” Arthur reassured, “It’s just-just that I’ve never done that before.”

Francis looked back up at Arthur and leaned in again, going in for another kiss. And Arthur gladly accepted, and wrapped his arms around Francis’ neck. Francis also got a bit handsy, and let his hands roam all over England. His hands massaged England’s shoulders, then rubbed his back, it made Arthur’s shiver. When his hands slipped past Arthur’s waistband, Arthur made a noise of displeasure and slapped the back of his head.

“-don’t... go fast.” He murmured against his lips.

France just nodded his head, removing his hands and placing them around Arthur’s waist instead. He went back into the kiss.

_Kiss. Breathe. Kiss. Breathe._

_Over and over,_ Arthur didn’t want it to ever stop. Neither did Francis. But all good things must end eventually;

“England!” a voice yelled in the distance, “Arthur? Where are you? It’s time to come home!”

England broke off the kiss, pushed off Frances; who gave a demeaning squeal.

“Shit, it’s Scotland!” he gasped, “I gotta go!”

Arthur shot up instantly, “I’m coming, Scotland!”

He hastily put on his shoes and socks, even almost falling over, he put on his still-damp shirt and shuddered at its coldness. 

“England!” Scotland’s voice boomed

“Damn, hold on a second!”

He was gone so quickly, Francis didn’t even get to say goodbye. He was left there, by his lonesome,

“Bye, I guess.”

...

After awhile, France decided that it was time to go home, but his mind was always thinking about the kiss. England also couldn’t get what happened out of his brain. _‘What the hell’s with you?’_ , his brother’s kept on asking. As if he would ever tell them what happened at the bottom of the hill and at the bank of the river, _ever_.

Neither of the two boys got a full night’s sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa! You made it all the way!
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic, so hopefully I did alright.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, constructive criticism would be deeply appreciated! :)


End file.
